


i love the thought of being with you (or maybe it's the thought of not being so alone)

by blurryjace, mogarsgav



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, it's senior prom, they're gay karen - Freeform, they're in high school, they're in love and this is canon timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 08:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20757173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryjace/pseuds/blurryjace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogarsgav/pseuds/mogarsgav
Summary: The year is 1988, and Richie Tozier discovers that he's closer to some friends than others.The year is 1989, and Richie Tozier discovers that Eddie Kaspbrak's laugh makes his heart flutter and his smile outshines the sun.The year is 1990, and Richie Tozier discovers that maybe he's not like other boys.He might be gay.The year is 1994, and Richie Tozier - now almost 18 - has finally come to terms with his crush on his closest friend.(Plot is 100% credit of blurryjace, I just got permission to write it out)





	i love the thought of being with you (or maybe it's the thought of not being so alone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blurryjace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryjace/gifts).

> TW FOR HOMOPHOBIC SLURS USED BRIEFLY
> 
> wow! that summary's a mess!  
this is entirely Jace's idea - i contributed very very little. i just wanted to write a full feature on it and i asked him first so  
thanks buddy :^)
> 
> this is all set in '94, when they're all 17/18 and in their senior year of high school

It was prom night for the class of 1994, and the seven of them sat together on the bleachers. This was something they’d been doing since their freshman year. It was easier to all go together and carpool in someone’s car than to try and find dates, maybe not even have a good night. The only real date among them was Bill and Beverly, but they pretended they didn’t mind - they’re losers too, after all, they say. Richie could tell sometimes they just wanted to dance together, but he didn’t say anything. He understood the feeling, too.

Dancing with his friends was something that would never get old. Dragging them onto the gym floor for the stupidest songs and watching Mike erupt into laughter as he did the stupidest dances he could think of (and he could only imagine how ridiculous he looked - long arms and longer legs flailing in an attempt to get a laugh out of someone) would never get old. That didn’t mean that he didn’t want to have a nice dance with someone, even if he couldn’t really dance. It would be nice to have the chance, at least. But that wasn’t a luxury he was afforded. Being gay in a small Christian town? You might as well be a murderer.

Sometimes he could feel eyes on him. Classmates, parents, teachers, the other losers. He could hear the whispers behind his back, rumors and slurs and giggles traveling to his ears. There was Trashmouth, the little faggot. His mother told him not to touch other boys the second she found out, and he could still see her sneer as he left the house that night, piled into the bed of Mike’s pickup with Eddie and Stan. While he knew the losers would never be like that towards him, he could never be sure. That was the scariest part, that he may or may not lose his friends if they caught wind of the truth. Let Derry say whatever the fuck it wanted to about him - he was going to leave in a couple of months, anyways. But his best friends? The only people he’d come to rely on and trust? They could love him or leave him, and he wasn’t sure which one he’d prefer.

Except for Stan, of course. Stanley knew, had known, had supported him in his own way. He could remember long nights of talking to Stan on the phone, or quiet days in the club house, passing little notes so no one could overhear them. He knew all about it - about Bowers harassing him before, about how he realized that he was crazy for Eddie (which Stan said he knew before Richie even did, but he doubted that), about how terrified he was to be gay in Derry. And Stan understood it all. He was different, too. He was just as spent over Bill, and he was Jewish. It made them the perfect people to confide to each other.

That didn’t make it any easier.

Watching Eddie dance around, dressed up in his little suit, it did something funny to his heart. They had all agreed on dressing up the best they could this year, to really go all out. After all, it was their last prom and their last big event together. The way he would laugh when Richie did something stupid, the way he would roll his eyes as he slung an arm over his shoulders and made an obnoxious kissing noise at him as a romantic song came on, it all just went right through him like electricity. He had been leveraging with himself for a few weeks now; senior year would end in a week or so, and after that, he could have the summer to himself before he either started college or moved out of Derry. What if.. What if he told Eddie how he felt? It was prom, that was supposed to be romantic, right? If he could catch him at just the right moment… It could be perfect.

Or awful. That was an option too.

It had taken a lot of deep breaths and a lot of anxious runs to finally convince himself to do it. Now he just had to find the right moment. That shouldn’t be too awful hard, right?

The moment presented itself sooner than his nerves may have wanted. A slow, partner song came on and people slowly evacuated the dance floor, including most of his group. Bill and Bev stayed on the floor, and Richie barely registered Ben and Stan staring at them. He was too focused on the way Eddie slid onto the bleachers, his styled hair a little messy from how they’d been screwing around and how often he touched it. Both of them had grown into curly hair, and Richie would swear up and down that Eddie pulled it off so much better. The suit he wore fit him ridiculously well, and he found himself almost staring as he took the time to build his courage to where he needed it.

He had began moving before fully recognizing it, and before he knew it, he was sitting next to Eddie and leaning into his shoulder just a bit. Not so much that it would look suspicious to anyone looking their way, but enough that Eddie felt the pressure of him there. There was a moment before he looked over, and oh, there was his smile again. The very smile that left him breathless every time he got it, the smile that Stan swore was reserved for him only.

He returned the gesture, leaning a little closer to he could speak to just him. No sooner had he gotten his mouth open had someone walked over and planted herself firmly in front of Eddie. They both looked up, a little startled at how suddenly she seemed to be there, how she rocked back and forth against her kitten heels, the awful click on linoleum grinding into Richie’s eardrums. He watched her hold out her hand, a bashful little smile on her face. He didn’t hear her exact words over the blood rushing in his ears, but he knew well enough what she’d asked. She wanted to dance - with Eddie. “It’d be a pity to finish off senior year without at least one slow dance, right Eddie?” Eddie turned back over his shoulder, looking at him for a moment with something indescribable in his eyes. Pity, maybe. Maybe he saw the look on his face, maybe he could tell. Whatever it was, it made his stomach twist. The look was gone almost as fast as it came, and his eyes were scanning the other losers briefly before he smiled and took her hand.

Like that, they were gone. Eddie’s blue jacket disappeared into the crowd of bodies and Richie realized he’d lost whatever window he may have had, and to some girl they didn’t even know. A girl. A girl wanted to dance with  _ Eddie _ . However he should feel about that, he didn’t. He should be proud, happy for his best friend. It was ridiculous to think about, but Richie knew it was bound to happen. Eddie had been getting more attention the older he got.

A familiar laugh rang in his ears and his head shot up, catching a glimpse of him with her, arms around each other and beaming like they’d known each other for years. The sight felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach and was twisting the knife.

Fuck. Fuck!

Richie looked around, his eyes darting all over the place for an escape. His body was tense and his thoughts were all over the place. He finally noticed the food table, back in the corner, right beside the exit. That could be it, his way out. He could walk home from here. He stood suddenly, looking around the group. “I’m going to get some punch. Anyone else want any? ..No? Cool.” The words all meshed together in the air, his tongue heavy and growing worse with each word. He only barely caught the look of pity on Stan’s face, the way his mouth formed his name, before he turned away. He didn’t catch the way Stan barred Ben from walking with him, shaking his head gently. They all knew something was wrong, and Stan knew better than most how easily Richie spooked if he was caught at the wrong moment.

His legs were ahead of his brain as he charged right past the table, shouldered the bar that latched the door, and jogged down the steps right outside. His face was heating up and his hands were shaking, and it was only then that he noticed the way his vision was blurring from behind his glasses. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to start crying over a boy outside the school gym?

The hot tears rolling down his cheeks said yes. His throat was tight as he tried to suck in air. At some point he’d abandoned his glasses, leaving them to sit on the ground beside him as he had slid down the wall, tucking himself in the corner between the stairs and the brick wall. This was probably the most expensive outfit he’d ever owned, and here he was, covering it in dirt and rocks and leftover cigarette ash from the kids who hid in the back to smoke.

His hands clenched into fists, one tangling in his hair while the other beat the ground. Pain shot through his wrist and arm, and he let out a choked sob. “FUCK!” Another broken noise. “..Fuck.”

Dirty, disgusting boy. Filthy. Just a nasty little faggot, out in the corner, crying like a little bitch. What would Bowers think if he saw him like this, breaking down over a boy like some  _ girl _ , sobbing so hard his chest was heaving and aching. A little queer, a fucking fairy, an awful sinner.

That’s all he was, right?

His whole body froze when he heard the door creak open, the sound of the music escaping just long enough to confirm that someone had stepped outside. He sat as still as he could, hoping he couldn’t be seen. What if it really was Bowers, or one of his little friends? But then Stan’s voice carried over the brick and he relaxed just slightly, a hiccuped breath escaping him and alerting his friend to his location.

Stan had a retort ready, some dumb joke that died on his lips the second he saw Richie. His eyes were red and puffy, and his nose matched. Rocks had embedded themselves into the fist had been pounding the ground, a little bit of blood mingling from where he’d scraped it across the blacktop. His hair was mused from his hand gripping his so tightly, and he was clearly miserable.

All over Eddie.

This wasn’t something that happened, ever. And Richie could tell he didn’t know how to handle it. That made two of them, then. The moment he felt arms wrap around him (albeit awkwardly), he lost it. He held onto his friend, desperate for some semblance of comfort or warmth, a gentle hand in what he was going through. There was a hand rubbing his back, and he was closing his eyes to it, his shoulders still shaking with the effort of dragging in breaths. Slowly, they pulled apart, and Richie mumbled an apology over getting tear stains on Stan’s jacket. There was a moment of quiet, joyless laughter between them before it went quiet again.

“You know you can talk to me about it.” Stan says, and he nods. He knows. He’s known. That’s why this is so easy now.

“I was gonna tell him. I was.. I was so  _ goddamn close _ to him. I almost had him alone, Stan, and then he was taken from me.” Stan just listens as he rants on and on about his plan, about how badly he’d wanted to tell Eddie, about how the plan was blown and he couldn’t do it anymore. He just listened, keeping a soft hand on his shoulder for grounding. He didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say. He couldn’t offer much comfort - Richie was right. Eddie was inside, dancing with a girl and enjoying his night. But that didn’t mean Richie didn’t deserve to enjoy his night, too.

Richie stifled another cry against Stan’s shoulder as the door opened again and gentle footsteps descended down the stairs. Richie didn’t know who it could be, but he didn’t want to be caught like this again. He closed his eyes, trying his best to bury himself into the dirt as he listens to Eddie’s gentle gasp. Of course it was Eddie, why wouldn’t it be? He’d rather be caught by Bowers, as this point. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand roughly, hissing as he noticed the scrapes on one as he put his glasses back on. He hears Stan murmur something against his ear, something about handling it, and he nods numbly.

“Rich.. What happened?”

As soon as he spoke, Stan was leading him just back up the stairs, ushering him away from the sight of an emotionally broken Richard Tozier.

“What happened to your date?” He asks, and suddenly the knife is back. It’s in his chest this time, wringing out his heart. He feels Eddie’s eyes on the back of his head and figures he’s made another noise on accident.

“She didn’t wanna dance anymore. I, uh.. I kept stepping on her toes.” It was spoken so sheepishly, yet just loud enough that he clearly wanted Richie to hear. It didn’t get a single response, and he realized just how bad it had to have been, whatever had hurt Richie. He was staring off into the distance, almost like he was looking at someone’s car, but his eyes were out of focus, nothing really in front of them. “What happened to him?”   
  


Stan’s eyes were on him now, and he felt like he knew what was coming. It made his heart race to imagine, and he almost started hyperventilating. At least he knew where to find an inhaler, if he needed one. Stan is beside him again, and he tells him he needs to talk to Eddie, that he can’t do it for him. Richie doesn’t respond, just sends him a pleading look that’s met with a ‘tsk’ and a pitiful smile. He lets him know he’s just inside the door if anything goes sour, even if Richie and Stan both know he won’t accept any help. It’s nice to know it’s always there. The moment Stan is gone, Eddie is descending again, and Richie is pulling his knees up to his chest. His arms wrap around his legs, and he’s sitting fetal. There was nothing to defend himself against, he knew, but it made him feel better to create a physical barrier between the two of them. The air is tense and awkward and he doesn’t know how to break it - if he even  _ can _ break it. He snaps out of his daze when he notices Eddie moving towards him, shrugging off his already-dirty jacket and laying it over the ground beside him.

The gesture got him his smile, and it almost made him feel better.

Almost.

The first thing out of his mouth is an immediate dismissal. “Nothing’s wrong, Eds.” He tries for a smile, but there’s nothing real or even humorous about him at the moment.

“Bullshit. I know you, Richie. You should be inside, trying to spike the punch or.. I don’t know, rig the voting so I’m named prom queen or something.”

“Already spiked the punch, Spaghetti. And you’re not prom queen material, Bill is.” There’s a smile behind it, and it’s almost right this time. Eddie feels a little better about it all, but there’s still clearly something missing. Something Richie didn’t want to tell him. Silence falls between them, and Eddie thinks Richie is gonna tell him to go when he opens his mouth again.

“You took dance lessons.” The confusion must have been clear on his face, because Richie continues. “You told me you took lessons because your mom made you. I remember I used to call you twinkle toes and you’d get so pissed.”

“Richie, what the hell does that have to do with-”

“You said she didn’t want to dance with you anymore because you kept stepping on her toes.” Eddie’s face falls as he realizes what Richie’s saying. He’d only ever told Richie about his dance lessons - of course Stan didn’t pick up on the lie. He’d damned himself with that one. He stops pushing the subject, not wanting to have to force them both into an uncomfortable position.

But Richie isn’t satisfied. This was his chance. He had a rare second chance and goddammit, he wasn’t going to let this one be wasted like before. Whatever god presided over them saw it fit to let some homo in Maine try for the boy again. “What really happened, Eddie? Why the hell are you out here?”

There’s a pause, and Richie thinks Eddie isn’t going to answer.

“I didn’t want to dance with her, but I wasn’t going to be rude and tell her no. Besides, she was right. Everyone should have at least one slow dance before we graduate.”

That wasn’t all of the story, and they both knew it. But pushing it further meant going somewhere neither of them was sure would land. Pushing further meant jumping off the cliff and falling somewhere unknown and scary. Richie’s about to ask when Eddie cuts him off for what feels like the hundredth time this evening. “What’s your excuse?” And there was his in, his final chance to say it. It wasn’t as.. Romantic as he’d hoped for it, but it was certainly something. It was better than bottling it up for the next 30 years, at least. He’d already been crying tonight, what was more?

“I missed the slow dance. I’m going to graduate without having ever slow danced with anyone and I don’t WANT to slow dance with anyone. I just wanna slow dance with one person, but it’s not gonna happen. It’s not possible, not here. Tonight was my chance and I missed it. I’m going to go my whole life not having slow danced with this person and it’s gonna be the death of me. It’s ass, and it’s my fault. I’m the motor mouth. I’m the one who can’t shut up. But I can’t fucking talk when I need to. It’s dumb.”

Eddie laughs, and Richie freezes up a bit. “You’re this torn up over a girl? Rich, there’s gonna be hundreds of girls in your lifetime. You talk too much, sure, but I’m sure there’s plenty of chicks who are into that! Slow dances are shit, anyways. It wasn’t as much fun as dancing with you guys.” And suddenly Richie is at the end of his rope with this. Had he not been obvious? Surely Eddie wasn’t  _ that _ oblivious, right? He’d been trying to show it for so long, especially tonight. Maybe he just needed to spell it out.

“Eds, for someone so smart, you’re a fucking idiot. You know that?” He ignores the offended scoff he got in response. “I don’t WANT to dance with any of those girls. I wouldn’t have even shown up to this stupid dance in this stupid tux. I came for you. I came because I wanted to be with you. I wanted to dance with you - just you, not everyone AND you. I wanted to be your slow dance. I wanted you.” He paused to take a breath and judge his standing. Eddie was gaping, but not running. That was good, right?

“And.. And that’s why I’m outside, crying like a little bitch and I’m.. I’m sorry I’m a bad friend. If you wanna tell me to go fuck myself after tonight, that’s fine. I get it. I always knew this was going to fuck things up so I won’t blame you. I just needed you to know before I left-” There’s suddenly lips against his and he’s forced to stop his stupid monologue because his brain has to catch up and process what’s happening.

That’s Eddie, his best friend of many years, on his mouth like he needs it. They’re knocking teeth and they’re clumsy but it’s fantastic and electric and it feels like coming home at just the right time. It only lasts a few seconds, but they’re both wide-eyed and shaking when they pull apart. Richie looks down at his hands, realizing just how bad he was shaking, and tucks them under his thighs.

“I didn’t think I put that much liquor in the punch.”

Eddie punches his shoulder with a little laugh, but his touch lingers. They bicker about it for a moment, Eddie insisting Richie never spiked anything because they were together almost the whole night. He wouldn’t have been able to. He feels a gentle tug on his arm, and it’s Eddie, trying to grab his hand. He holds his hand out obediently, and suddenly their fingers are laced together and he feels light as a feather. This was all he’d been craving for years.

They steal a few gentle kisses in between words before Eddie suggests they go back inside because the others were probably worried by now, and Richie agrees. There’s a second where neither of them want to get up, unwilling to let go of the paradise they’d found in each other.

Richie swears they’ll get a slow dance together before they leave Derry.

After all, what good is a secret club house if they can’t celebrate their secrets within it?


End file.
